3 Months
by x goodbye is bittersweet x
Summary: Emily Prentiss is not a victim. She refuses to be. But what happens when eventually, she has to accept that she is one? (AU verse where her past with Ian did not happen, and Ian is her husband) Slow-burn Hotchniss (Haitus)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer : I own none of the characters (sadly).**

 **TW: implied abuse**

* * *

 _Chapter One_

 _The Secret Even Aaron Hotchner Couldn't Figure Out_

* * *

 _"And when you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you," - Friedrich Nietzsche_

"Are you cold? I can fetch you a jacket. Emily? Agent Prentiss? _Emily_?" Hotch snapped his fingers in front of the brunette's face, startling her for a brief moment. Emily shook her head, moving to stand, only to sit abruptly back down with a wince. The paramedics moved from the back of the ambulance so Hotch could sit next to her.

"Don't move, they're still patching you up," his voice was stern, but Prentiss could sense the concern. It was in his gaze, in his tone.

"I told you, I'm fine," she muttered stubbornly, trying for a glare. It simply ended in her diverting her gaze to the floor. Hotch sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Emily, you're hurt. Please, give me something here. Tell me who did this,"

"Nobody,"

"Emily-"

"Hotch, I'm not a victim," Prentiss snapped, shooing the rest of the medics away, forcing herself to stand and ignoring the way her legs felt weak.

"Agent Prentiss, sit back down and allow yourself to be helped for once. That is an order,"

"It's an order I'm not going to follow," Emily started walking off, to her car. She ignored the calls of her boss, ducking into her car. She didn't start it though, not yet, she just rested her head against the back of the seat, taking a deep breath. Her shoulder throbbed, her knee ached, her head hurt. Everything was painful.

But she couldn't tell them.

No-one could know.

It was eleven thirty at night, and it wasn't the last of these incidents. Emily Prentiss knew that.

o-O-o

"Welcome back!" JJ smiled, squeezing her friend's shoulder. Prentiss had been off for a few days, Hotch ordering her to take a few days to recover. Emily hid the wince as the blonde's hand made contact with the bruise.

"Thanks," she returned the smile with a tight-lipped, fake smile. Maybe it would work? JJ clearly sensed something was wrong, but didn't press further.

All the team knew was that Emily had been injured. They didn't know how, and they didn't know that an ambulance (plus Hotch) had been called to her house. Hotch himself didn't know what had happened, though he knew Emily hadn't tripped down the stairs and hit her head, like she'd said. Trying to profile her would be useless - she was a profiler, she knew how to hide things.

But there were small things he picked up on. The way she didn't twist her wedding ring anymore. She always used to. The way the photo of Ian was no longer on her desk, it was in her drawer. Oh yes, he'd picked up on the small things. He was trying to figure out everything when a knock sounded at the door.

"Come in,"

"Sir, about what happened the other night-" Prentiss began, taking a step into his office. Before she could continue, however, Aaron cut her off.

"The picture of Ian on your desk isn't there anymore, it's hidden in your drawer. Why? There could be several reasons - but the most probable one is that you relate that picture to something bad, there isn't anyone in that picture other than Ian, so the bad thing must be him. But why, _again_? I'll take a guess later,"

"Hotch, excuse me if I'm out of line, but this is-"

"You don't twist your wedding ring anymore either, you always used to when you were nervous, or before we went on a case. Like how you always used to call him before a case. For the past three months, I haven't seen that happening. You don't want him to know where you're going, so you don't tell him. You don't answer his calls to you during the day - the calls that have become more frequent, more demanding. Yet, you still won't pick up. Either you don't want to talk to him, or you don't want us to hear what he'll say... or both,"

"What are you getting at?" Prentiss' voice was filled with caution. Hotch still didn't reach his conclusion, though. There was still more.

"And when that ambulance was there, isn't it strange that your husband was not present to comfort you after your fall? I know that if I were with someone, I would be there to make sure they were okay. So where was he, Emily?"

"What are you getting at?" she repeated, fiddling with one hand.

"Is Ian Doyle abusing you?"

"No, and how _dare_ you accuse him of that!" her voice faltered slightly, a fire burning bright in her eyes. It was dim, though, it wasn't as fierce as it usually was.

"I will ask you again, Agent Prentiss, is Ian Doyle abusing you?"

"No," Emily said again, turning on her heel and storming out of the office. Her heart was beating almost painfully fast, panic rising. Yet, she held her head high and continued walking. Straight down the stairs, straight to her desk in the bullpen, straight to her chair, resting her head down. Keep it cool, Em, she had this, it was alright, it was okay, everything was okay. That's what she had been telling herself for three months now. Ian was just going through stress at work, it didn't help she was always out too, it didn't help that _Hotch_ was always calling her, it made Ian suspicious. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't much, anyway. Just a few...occasions where he would grab her wrist a little too hard, or his voice would raise a little too high, or he'd shove her away. The other night had only been the second time when he'd properly lashed out. She'd just been too challenging, that's all. He was stressed. She shouldn't have argued back as harshly.

It wasn't his fault.

o-O-o

"Prentiss, wheels up in ten," Morgan informed her, dropping by her desk for a moment. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, Derek..."

"You sure?"

"Positive,"

"Talk to me if you need," his smile was kind, his eyes soft. But Ian's had been at some point. Ian had been kind at some point. Ian had been soft and sweet at some point.

No. Morgan wasn't Ian. Morgan _was_ those things. He was compassionate, determined, he was everything good in a guy. She could trust him.

 _She could trust Ian at some point._

Stop.

"How's your shoulder doing? Hotch said there was a pretty bad bruise over it,"

"Yeah, it's fine. Honestly, the pain meds are working like an angel, my knee's not as bad either, and the cut on my head is healing,"

"Good, good. Well, I'll see you on the plane," with that, Derek was moving on, file case tucked in the crook of his arm. Emily watched him go with a sigh. How did she tell them? If she did, she would be treated like a victim.

And Emily Prentiss was not a victim.


	2. Chapter 2

**Heads up guys, updates may be slow - I struggle to type at the moment because my fingers are taped together due to the potentiality of torn ligaments. I'll try and get the chapters out though!**

* * *

 _Chapter Two_

 _The Case_

* * *

 _"The best way to keep a secret is to pretend there isn't one," - Margaret Atwood_

Emily slept for most of the plane journey - it took a few hours, they were going to some remote town. Her boss kept an eye on the sleeping agent, brow furrowed slightly as he looked at her. She was lying to him, but he couldn't do anything, not until she physically told him. It was so frustrating, not being able to help someone you cared so deeply for.

"Hotch, can I speak to you?" JJ inquired quietly, taking a seat opposite the dark haired man.

"What is it?"

"It's about Emily..."

"Oh?"

"I'm worried about her. She doesn't seem herself, so many things are like the old her, but it seems like she's more tired nowadays. There are circles under her eyes, she even seems thinner, Hotch..." the blonde murmured, sneaking a glance at her friend. "Do you know what's going on?"

Yes, yes he did. But he had no proof. Anyway, he couldn't just go announcing it to the whole team, not when it was a suspicion, not when it concerned Emily.

"She hasn't come to me about anything," there, it wasn't a lie. That was the truth. "Give her time, if something's up I'm sure she'll come to us, JJ,"

Aaron wasn't actually all too sure about that. Prentiss was a master of hiding things even from him, when she didn't want people to find something out, they didn't. Part of him wanted to catch her wrist, see if there were any bruises. Part of him wanted to pull her from that household and stow her away. The more logical side of him was the one he listened to, the side that knew he couldn't do any of that, the side that knew if his suspicions were right, doing any of those could spook her.

"I may not be a profiler, but I can still read people. You're hiding something," JJ's tone was practically accusatory.

"I'm just tired,"

"There's more, I can tell, I'll figure it out,"

"Tell me when you do," it came out snappier than he meant to, and Hotch could spot the slight hurt that crossed in JJ's eyes before she got up and walked away. The Unit Chief sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, chewing the inside of his cheek. Everything was so fucking messed up. It was only when he noticed Emily stirring that he was drawn from his thoughts. There was a small crease to her brows, a small frown to her lips. She looked worried. Nightmare, maybe?

"Prentiss, I'd like to talk to you about-"

"I'm not in the mood, Hotch," she murmured simply, closing her eyes again. A steady headache was pounding in her head. Steady, painful, and sore. Her dreams had been filled of the events of several nights ago.

"It's important,"

"It can still wait. Please?"

It took Hotch a moment, but he found himself nodding.

* * *

"Victimology?"

"All of them are male, mid-thirties, all with brown hair and blue eyes," the Sheriff informed them, guiding the team through the station until they reached a room near the back. "Y'all can set up here, anything you need is yours,"

"Thank you, Sherriff. Do you mind giving us all you have on this case?"

"Of course," the middle-aged man walked back into the main section of the station, leaving the agents be. Reid was already looking at the large whiteboard, face a mask of concentration, looking at the murders and evidence. The Unsub had left messages in blood on the walls, and at the latest murder, a note on paper had been found. They could all already tell Reid was chasing an idea in his mind.

"What is it, kid?" Morgan asked, standing behind the young doctor.

"Guys.. I think our unsub is a woman,"

"How'd you deduce that so quickly, Pretty Boy?"

"Well, look at the note that was left at the last scene. She goes into so much detail about victim, about his clothes, about his routine. A male wouldn't do that. See here? 'I watched him as he smiled, like he had done nothing wrong. His clothes were pressed, the white of his ironed shirt, the crease in his dark grey slacks, even the shine to his flat-toed Oxfords. It was all a lie, they didn't know what he did.' She goes into the detail of his clothes, a man wouldn't bother. Not to mention that the handwriting has the curl of letters commonly linked with feminine handwriting,"

"So, we've already deduced our unsub is female. Great work, Reid," Hotch did not compliment often - he _did_ have his way of showing appreciation, but for it to be verbal was rare. Reid deserved it, they hadn't been here ten minutes, and he'd already figured out a key part of the case. The youngest member of the team tried to suppress a proud smile, ducking his head slightly.

"Morgan and Rossi, you head to the scene. The latest body was only found a few hours before now. See if you spot anything more. JJ, you keep the press from releasing anything. Reid, you stay here and figure out anything else you can - get Garcia to help you if you need,"

"What should I do?" Prentiss inquired, glancing at her superior. She was almost in fear of the answer. She knew Hotch, and she knew if he thought something was wrong, he would keep her off as many things as he could. But she could do them! She wasn't a damn victim!

"There was a witness who saw someone leaving the house an hour after suspected time of death. You and I are going to interview her,"

"I can go it alone if you'd much rather-"

"Prentiss, it's not up for discussion," he told her. The slight flinch at his sharp tone didn't go unnoticed, and his features immediately softened. "You can stay here with Reid if you wish,"

"No, I'm fine, let's go." the brunette grabbed her jacket, moving towards the door.

* * *

They were outside the house, in the car, when Hotch finally brought up what he'd been dying to say.

"Why won't you tell me what really happened, Emily?"

"Nothing happened, Hotch," she replied all too quickly, changing her gaze to stare out the window instead of meeting his gaze.

"Prentiss, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on," Hotch frowned, turning towards her. Emily pulled the sleeve of her jacket down further, refusing to meet his gaze even still. She couldn't. Because then she would fall apart, she would tell him everything that she was trying to hide.

"There's nothing going on, so just drop it,"

"Not when you're lying,"

"I'm not!"

"Emi-"

"Don't Emily me, Hotch. Nothing's going on, so stop pushing it, just stop." Emily got out of the car, storming towards the house and leaving her boss alone in the car, alone and feeling helpless.

* * *

 **Don't forget to drop a review on what you thought! Thanks for reading!**

 **~Oncie**


	3. Chapter 3

**tw: mention of abuse**

 **Just a heads up that the majority of this chapter is speech.**

* * *

 _Chapter Three_

 _How Does One Forget?_

* * *

 _"When we hide our feelings from others, we seek to hide them from ourselves, and it is the latter attempt that we are most successful," -Pierre Nicole_

"Can you explain to me what you saw?" the two agents were sat in the living room of the witness, who honestly looked a little jumpy - like she was expecting something bad to happen. The room wasn't fancy, or very home-like. It was basic colours - beige and white. There were no photos, well, there was _one_ on the mantelpiece, showing a happy couple, all smiles and love. Emily shifted uncomfortably, barely giving the picture a moment's look. She used to have pictures like that, she still did, but they weren't as true. Sure, her and Ian still had their moments, when he wasn't angry. There still _was_ love there... or at least, she'd made herself believe that. They still loved each other, just maybe a little less, he was easier to anger, she was stubborn, it wasn't the best mix. Whilst Emily had delved into her thoughts, Hotch had focused more on the fact that there was only _one_ photo of this seemingly happy couple. He'd bring it up later, for now it was time to get their witness statement.

"I, uh, it was dark. I, uhm, I didn't see a face, I didn't see who it was, but I saw someone... jumping over the fence of the, uh, the Roberts'. It was maybe one in the morning? I was up, uh, I was up because I didn't take my sleeping meds," the woman told them, fidgeting with her sleeves. Her dark brown hair hung limply around her face, hiding one chocolate iris from view. The woman reminded Emily painfully of herself.

"Mrs Clay, did you see anything else? Maybe some features? Hair colour, height?"

"Uh- I think, er, I think they had blonde hair... they were maybe 5'5?" Rowan Clay watched as Emily jotted a few things down on a notepad. Her eyes never stayed in the same place, gaze always shifting nervously. There _was_ one place they would continuously land on, the clock hanging on the wall.

"Mrs Clay, are you expecting someone?" Emily asked, following the woman's gaze. "We can go if needed,"

"No, no, it's fine. My husband's due home from work soon, that's all,"

"Is something going on?" Hotch interfered, deep brown eyes concerned. The way Rowan immediately started playing with her sleeves gave the answer away, her nervous smile faltering. "Mrs Clay, do you need us to stay here?"

"No, no, it's fine, honestly. I-I couldn't ask that of you,"

"We insist, we can stay for a while longer. Ensure your safety,"

"Please, it'll only make him angry,"

"I can promise you that he won't be able to-"

"Hotch," Emily murmured, nudging him sharply. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Rowan stood, clearing her throat. "I'll go get some tea, and, uh, and you two can talk..." she scurried off into the kitchen, leaving the two agents alone in the living room.

"Prentiss, what is it?"

"She wants us to go, we should," Emily said, forcing herself to meet his eyes. She refused to let herself fiddle with her hands, or her sleeves.

"Prentiss, if we go she gets hurt,"

"And what happens if we stay, and _then_ when we leave he'll hurt her. Trust me, I know," she realised what she said a little too late, lips in a small 'o', no sound coming out. The tension in the air somehow both grew and dissipated. Hotch stared at her, gingerly placing a hand on her shoulder. For once, Emily didn't flinch, she didn't move away, she looked down because she couldn't meet his eyes right now.

"Emily..."

"Don't..."

"Emily, you should've told me sooner. How bad is it?"

"I can deal with it," she insisted quietly, sighing.

"Can you? Or have you convinced yourself that?"

"I can. I promise. Don't tell the team, he's just going through some stress at work, I assure you it's fine, Hotch." Emily pulled away and went back to the couch, leaving Hotch to just gaze after her. He knew she was hiding how bad it really was, he knew she was convincing herself and others around her that everything was fine. That's why she had looked so uncomfortable at the photo on the mantel, because she was trying to tell herself that's the love she had, even though her brain was telling her she was lying. Because what she had was not love. Love was supposed to be sweet, sweet but passionate, it was supposed to be care and spontaneous kisses. It was supposed to be a blanket to fall back on when something was hard, because your partner would always catch and help you. It wasn't supposed to be bruises and worried glances. Not ever.

The husband came home half an hour later, shouting something to his wife before stopping at the sign of the agents.

"Who are you?" he demanded gruffly, eyes narrowed as he dropped his coat and bag by the door.

"Mr Clay, I'm SSA Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner, and this is SSA Emily Prentiss, we're here to interview your wife,"

The man's demeanour seemed to change, almost scared. "What'd you tell you!?"

"We're interviewing her about the person she saw running from a murder scene, Mr Clay, why? Is there something else she would tell us?" Aaron challenged, face cleared of kindness, eyes hard.

"Nothin' at all," Justin grumbled, heading into the kitchen to talk with his wife. From the corner of his eye, Hotch noted how Emily had tensed, as if she were ready for an attack.

"You okay?"

"Listen, Hotch, and listen well. I'm not a victim. You don't have to protect me. The most Ian's done is shove me a little to hard,"

"What about the incident a few nights back?"

"I told you, I fell," Emily snapped, slipping into a defensive mood. It told Hotch everything she wouldn't. Emily turning defensive told him she was hiding what really happened: Ian had pushed her. However, he knew pushing it wouldn't get him anyway so he sighed, nodding.

"I'm sorry for stepping over my boundaries, Agent,"

* * *

Derek crouched by the body, frowning. Something wasn't right, some pieces just didn't click.

"What is it, Morgan?" Rossi asked, watching his friend, curious as to what he was thinking.

"We already figured out everything was planned to the finest point. Our unsub studied these men, she knew when they would be alone, she knew how to get in. She snuck in through the window, she attacked him. But look, the stab wounds are shallow, they're hesitant, messy. It doesn't make sense, if she's planned killing him, why would the attack be this unorganized, like she didn't want to kill him?"

"Maybe she didn't attack him straight away? Maybe he found her, said something?"

"There's one more thing,"

"That is?"

"Hotch texted me the witness' story. It doesn't add up either. She said she saw the unsub leaving through the window, but we checked them, there are no scuff marks to indicate it was lifted and jumped out of. Which also excludes the idea that our unsub came in through the window," the agent ran a hand over his jaw, straightening again. "So she must have come through the front door. There were no signs of a struggle, he let her in. You wouldn't let any old stranger into your house at that time, so she was someone he knew," Morgan fished in his pocket for his phone, dialling Hotch. It was only a few rings before his boss picked up.

"Morgan?"

"Hotch, your witness isn't telling the truth," was the first thing Derek said, looking around the crime scene.

"What do you mean?"

"There are no scuff marks on the windows, they were untouched,"

Hotch glanced through the room, seeing if the witness was there, turning around after he was sure she wasn't. "Why would she lie?"

"I don't know, find out," he hung up, placing the phone back in his pocket. "Rossi, did you get anything on the note?"

Rossi gazed towards the bloody writing on the wall reading 'Tristan deserved it'.

"This was a personal attack, they all were," Rossi concluded, flipping through a pocket notepad, looking at his notes. "Our unsub uses all the names of the victims, not 'he'. She either knows the victims, or she's trying to make herself believe she knows the victims. Have we interviewed Tristan's wife?"

"About that..." Morgan began, scratching behind his neck. The agent explained about how the wife of the victim was in hospital after an accident at home. It was discovered she'd been abused by Tristan, and was suffering from two broken ribs, a fractured wrist, and multiple bruises. He watched as Rossi's mind was connecting it all, a knowing fire flickering in the older man's eyes.

"Get Garcia on the phone,"

"What is it?" he was already dialling the analyst, the phone ringing. He didn't get an answer until Garcia answered.

"Hello, my Chocolate Adonis, how may I service you today?"

"Hey, Baby Girl, you're on speaker," he held out the phone so Rossi could speak.

"Garcia, I need you to pull up the hospital records of all the victims' wives," David said, shoving the notebook back in his pocket. "Look back over years, see if any of them have recurring injuries. Broken bones, bruises, cuts, anything,"

"On it," Garcia informed them, typing quickly before coming back to them a moment later. "All of the victims' wives have been admitted to hospital over several accounts of broken bones. Jonah Reeves' wife was almost killed in an incident where it was proven that Reeves' beat her within an inch of her life. Damon Gale's wife was admitted twice within three weeks after Gale pushed her down the stairs. And Tristan's wife has had an increase in hospital visits,"

"Thank you, Garcia,"

"Anytime, Rossi. Garcia out," the call ended, Rossi running a hand over his face. "We have our profile,"

"What did you figure out?"

"Our unsub is a victim of domestic abuse,"

* * *

 **Don't forget to leave a review!**


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four_

 _Let Me In_

* * *

 _"It is dangerous to confuse vengeance with justice," - Unknown_

"Our unsub is female, and we believe she is the victim of domestic abuse," Reid began, standing in front of the police department. "She believes she is giving the husbands what they deserve, and the wives freedom. She most likely shows signs of anxiety and/or depression. We do believe, however, that this woman is not dangerous. She will not attack if confronted. In fact, there's more of a chance that she will show remorse for what happened," the doctor stepped aside, letting Rossi add in.

"We ask that when we find her, you will let us take control of the situation. Agents Prentiss and Jareau will be in charge, this unsub will most likely freak if confronted by a male. We cannot stress how important it is that you don't crowd in on her," Rossi looked around the room, nodding to JJ, who added in something about not talking to the media about this case. Everyone filed out of the room, save for the agents. Morgan had joined Hotch and Prentiss at the witness' house, leaving just Rossi, JJ, and Reid at the station. Reid was sat, staring at a table. He tapped a pencil against the wood, deeply in thought. JJ tilted her head, watching him. It was clear the he was chasing another idea, maybe another breakthrough.

"What is it, Spence?"

"Can you get Hotch on the phone? I need to know everything the witness said, how she acted, and everything about her husband,"

JJ was already dialling their boss, phone on loud speaker. It took a few rings before Aaron picked up.

"This is Hotch,"

"Hi, uh, Hotch, I need something," Reid said, leaning over so he was closer to the phone. "Can you tell me everything the witness said, or any way she acted that was peculiar? I think I may be onto something,"

"We know one thing, she was lying about what she saw, Morgan and Rossi figured that out. Her husband came home half an hour ago and she hasn't come out of the kitchen since, but he's gone out to the bar,"

"Hotch, what's the husband's appearance?"

There was a moment of silence as Hotch finally caught on, his tone one of knowing. "Brown hair, blue eyes... The witness was our unsub... Alright, you guys get geared up and come on out here. JJ, warn the bar to clear everyone out, if we're right about this, then Rowan is going after her husband,"

* * *

They had found her, in the bar, gun pointed at her husband. The rest of the team stayed outside, ready to go in if needed whilst Emily and JJ advanced inside. They raised their guns, walking slowly inside.

"Rowan, put the gun down," Emily was the first to speak, coming to a stop. "It won't do anything if you shoot him,"

"H-He deserves it... f-for what he's done..."

"I know, I know he does, but once you do that it's all over. Everything. He doesn't get to truly pay for what he's done," replied the brunette, slowly placing her gun down on the floor.

"Emily.." JJ murmured, loud enough for only her friend to hear. Emily didn't pay any attention, taking another step towards the unsub.

"I know that you want him to pay, Rowan, and trust me he most definitely deserves it for what he did to you, he deserves the worst. But if you do this, you become worse than him. Let him pay for it in a cell, let him pay for it when other inmates crowd him. Don't do this, Rowan, it'll ruin your life," Prentiss murmured, daring to take another step. She was only a few feet away now, hands raised slightly just in case. The two agents could see they were getting somewhere with this, Rowan's hand was shaking with the gun. Her husband just sat, sipping his drink as if nothing was happening, a large smirk on his face.

However, outside of the bar, things weren't going so well. The Sheriff was talking angrily to Hotch.

"They've been in there too long. In five minutes, I'm sendin' my men in there, Agent Hotchner, whether you like it or not," he snapped gruffly.

"Sheriff, please, give them time. If you rush in there, there _will_ be injuries,"

"Five minutes," the Sheriff repeated, walking off to his team and giving them the instructions. Hotch watched, shaking his head. He gestured to Morgan.

"Keep them off as long as you can, Morgan. If they go in there, something bad is going to happen,"

"Got it, Hotch," Derek moved over to the other team, trying to get them to change their minds. It didn't go well. At all.

Emily was finally getting somewhere. She almost had Rowan putting down the gun, almost. It was still pointed at her husband, but the arm was lowered more.

"That's it, Rowan. You don't want to shoot him. Look, we'll make sure he gets charged for everything he ever did to you, okay? Just put down the gun for me, Rowan,"

"O-Okay,"

It happened too fast. Morgan yelling for them to stop, the police charging in with their guns trained on Rowan. Rowan panicked, her hand shaking. One loud gunshot rang and her husband slumped forward. Someone else fired, Prentiss telling them no, don't do it, but it was too late. Rowan crumpled to the floor, blood beginning to stain her shirt. Prentiss ran to her, crouching beside the dying woman, pressing a hand to her wound.

"Someone call an ambulance!" she called, turning her attention back to Rowan. "Come on, stay with me,"

"Why're you h-helping me? I-I killed p-people..."

' _Because you remind me of me_ ' were the words Prentiss never said. She said nothing, instead focusing on trying to stop the bleeding.

"I-It's useless... I-I'm going to die anyway..." Rowan weakly pushed Emily's hand away. "J-Just let me die... W-Will you s-stay with me?"

"Of course,"

And so Emily Prentiss sat down by the dying woman, gently stroking her hair. The team just watched, shooing out the police officers. Only Hotch knew why this case had had such an impact on his colleague. Only he knew why it had been so important to Emily to stop Rowan from killing her husband, because it reminded his agent of what she was capable of. Of how easy it would be to shoot Ian. But he also knew she was scared, because Ian had power over her and she hated to admit that. She was scared because part of her still loved him, she couldn't hurt him. The Chief watched as Rowan's life faded, her grip on Emily's hand loosening. And he watched as Emily's eyes glazed over with the tears she would never let shed, hand sweeping over Rowan's face to close the late woman's eyes.

* * *

The plane ride home was long and silent. Morgan sat with his headphones on, eyes closed as he attempted to let the music calm him. Reid was asleep, head leant against a window with JJ sleeping beside him, head leaning against his upper arm. Rossi had headphones on, reading in the far corner of the plane, but he was clearly starting to fall asleep too. The only two people completely awake and alert were Emily and Aaron, both staring out the window. They were sat opposite each other in a half-awkward silence.

"That was the hardest thing I've had to do in this job," surprisingly, it was Emily breaking the silence first. She drew her gaze to Hotch, shifting in her seat. "Convincing someone not to shoot their abusive husband who honestly would deserve it. It's the hardest thing I've had to do,"

Hotch studied her for a moment before replying. "Thank you for that. You stayed by her until she passed on, not many people would. You're a good person, Emily, even if seeing Rowan about to shoot her husband reminded you of how easy it would be. You're a good person,"

"Not everyone would agree," she scoffed, but a hint of a smile appeared on her lips. "but thank you,"

"And thank you for letting me in,"

"I don't understand?"

"You've finally let me in. It may not be that far and you may still refuse to talk to me about certain things, but you just let me in,"

"It was only a matter of time," Emily ran a hand through her hair. "Do you believe me when I say I can handle it?

"No," was the simple answer.

"I can though, Hotch. I promise you that what happens isn't much. A shove, a push, maybe a hold that's a little too tight, nothing much more than that. Sure, he's easier to anger and the words he says hurt, but I can handle it. And if one day I can't, I promise I'll tell you,"

"Are you sure?"

"I promise,"


	5. Chapter 5

**tw: mention of abuse**

 **The characters may be a little OCC in this chapter, sorryyyy**

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 _Chapter Five_

 _Broken Smile and Bitter Lies_

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 _"The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of. We know the truth not only by the reason, but by the heart," - Blaise Pascal_

"She's never late to work," Reid commented, turning round in his office chair, glancing over the bullpen. Emily's desk was empty, it had been half an hour since she was supposed to show up. "She's usually here even before me,"

"Traffic?" Morgan suggested, leaning against Reid's booth, thick brows furrowed. He could already tell that Spencer was going to give him a reason why it couldn't _possibly_ be traffic before the doctor even started speaking. Sure enough, Reid told him about the traffic rates of that day, how at the time Prentiss would have left there would've been little to no traffic at all.

"Alright, alright, kid, I get it," he sighed, cutting Spencer off halfway through. "So where on earth is she?"

"Maybe Hotch knows?" Reid queried, looking up at their Chief's window. Hotch was sat at his desk, on the phone. A deep frown pulled at his features, whatever it was, it was serious. The dark haired man stood, moving over to the window, pulling the blinds.

"Something's wrong, I wonder if it's about E-" just before Spencer could finish his sentence, the elevator opened and out came Emily. She looked... fine. Too fine. That's what threw the agents. She looked like nothing was wrong, but her eyes were shining with tears. The brunette walked into the bullpen with a painfully fake smile, greeting the two on the way to her desk.

"Sorry I'm late - traffic," she explained quietly. Morgan shook his head as Reid went to correct her.

"Don't," he murmured so only they could hear.

"Is, uh, is Hotch in?" Emily asked, biting her lip. It had been two days since the case, since her promise. When she'd gotten home, Ian had been drunk. It was fine. Fine. Fine. He'd just - snapped. She could deal with it. She'd come into work, it was only paperwork, no cases. She just... thought that maybe she'd talk with him, get his opinion on it.

"Yeah, he seems stressed though, tread carefully," Morgan joked, lips flicking up into a grin. Emily didn't react, just went up towards the office. She knew he'd been trying to reach her and ask why she'd been late - she had the ignored calls to prove it. Of course, she'd been meaning to pick up, but she'd been busy choosing an outfit that covered everything, every bruise, every cut she couldn't bear to make herself look at. With a hesitant hand, she knocked lightly on her boss' door. It took a moment, but there was a quiet "Come in" from the other side.

Deep breath.

Emily turned the handle, taking a step inside the office.

"I need to talk to you,"

"Prentiss - I was so wo- you're late for work," he cleared his throat before finishing the original sentence. His face was the usual stern mask, but his eyes gave everything away. Aaron Hotchner had been worried sick. It wasn't normal for there to be a slight pale tint to his face, or for his hands to be clutching the back of his office chair so tightly. There was even what could be described as _fear_ in his eyes.

"I know, I, uh, I would've picked up the phone but- I was - oh god," she didn't the tears fall. She didn't cry. _Emily Prentiss did not cry_. But... it was getting harder not to. She closed the door, walking in and taking the seat opposite the desk. "He was drunk, Hotch, when we got back. He was drunk, and - I - I was late home because of the traffic..." her voice wobbled dangerously, arms wrapped around herself. Hotch moved over to her, frowning.

"Prentiss? What happened?"

"It wasn't too bad, he's done worse, much worse... he just snapped. He shouted, he grabbed my wrist, I told him to let go, he didn't. I was against a wall at some point, I - I don't remember much of it, it's fuzzy..."

"You know I have to call this in, right? You've told me you're being abused, I have to-"

"Don't. Please. I beg you," Emily mumbled, pulling her sleeves over her hands. "He was drunk, it wasn't his fault,"

"Prentiss-"

"Hotch, I love him. And... that - that scares me, because of everything he's done to me. But - sometimes he isn't like this, sometimes he's still the old Ian, and I love _that_ Ian. Is there something wrong with me, Hotch? How can I love someone like that?"

"Because you've loved him so long," Hotch said, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. "Look, Emily, you don't love him, not really. But you've convinced yourself you do, just because you used to. I really do have to call this in, if I didn't and you got hurt, it would be my fault,"

"Please, Hotch, don't - I'll - if it happens again, you can, but please, he was just drunk,"

It put Hotch in an awkward position. This was one of his agents, one of his team, someone he cared so deeply for (feelings he continued to deny and deny). She was being hurt and he needed to stop it, but she didn't want him to. She'd begged him not to. Yet, that meant if she did get hurt, it would be entirely on him for not telling anyone. He worked with the law, how could he find himself finally agreeing with her? How could he find himself promising he wouldn't? How could he be watching her leave his office? Aaron Hotchner tried to ignore the guilt that clutched at his heart. What had he done?

The Unit Chief opened the blinds to his window, looking out at the bullpen. Emily was sat with Morgan at Reid's desk as Reid performed some sort of magic trick for them. He watched as a smile graced the brunette's face - one that actually seemed real - and she laughed. JJ joined them next, sitting on the edge of Spencer's desk and watching with a raised brow. It wasn't long before his whole team was crowded around Spencer's desk, gazing as the young doctor repeated the trick once more. Aaron sighed, shutting the blinds again. This was his team. This was the team he'd vowed to protect countlessly in his mind (very rarely out loud). This was the team that had everyone's back, had _his_ back. And this was the team he'd hoped would never have some sort of wedge driven between them. But it seemed his hopes had crumpled: he was putting one in danger and it just happened to be the same woman he was slowly falling for.

What the hell was he going to do?

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 **Don't forgot to leave a review to tell me what you thought. As you can see, Hotch's feelings are slowly becoming more apparent XP**

 **~Oncie**


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry this was so late! I've rewritten it several times with different ideas XD**

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 _Chapter Six_

 _Raindrops, Coffee, Oversized T-shirts and Too Big Sweatpants_

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 _"As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being," - C.G. Jung_

Knocking. Wait - what? Hotch sat up in bed, muffling a yawn. The clock on his bedside table read 12:36, who the hell was knocking at this hour? He slipped out of the bed, pausing for a moment to see if he'd just imagined it. Nope, the knocking was still there. With a half irritated sigh, he went downstairs, opening the front door. He blinked when he saw who it was, momentarily speechless.

"Emily? What are you - are you - why are you are?" there wasn't a response straight away. It was raining quite heavily, but it seemed Emily didn't particularly care. She stood, t-shirt sleeves pulled over her hands, thin fabric sticking to her skin. She sniffled from the cold, arms crossed over her chest.

"I... I don't know, honestly. I started walking, I needed to get away so I just started walking and here I am," she chuckled humourlessly, a raindrop falling from her nose. "Hotch, I don't know if I'm okay," she added seconds later, voice sounding close breaking. "I don't know if I'm okay, or if I've forgotten what okay _is_ , I just - I don't know anymore. Sometimes I think that I must be a magnet for bad luck, sometimes I just think that maybe running will be the best bet. Get a new start somewhere where no one knows my name, and then I realise I'm being stupid. Hotch, what if this is it for me?" she took a moment to meet his eyes, shivering as the cold finally set in. Hotch stared at her, opening the door wider so the agent could come inside.

"You must be freezing, come inside. I'll get you some coffee or something,"

"I couldn't impose-"

"You're not. You're standing in the pouring rain, you really think I'm going to let you freeze?" it took a minute, but Emily finally moved inside. She stayed in the same spot for a while, just letting the warmth hold her. Hotch had disappeared into the kitchen, she vaguely heard the sound of mugs being placed on the counter. The brunette looked around, a tiny smile gracing her lips as she did. The walls were decorated in photos of Aaron and Jack together, or Jack playing, or holding up an award. There were photos of the team too, like the photo they'd taken last Christmas. With hesitant steps, she walked over to that picture, running a finger over herself. She'd been so happy at that time. Everything had been this whirlwind of perfection... Emily was drawn from her thoughts by the sound of the kettle whistling. She shook her head, slowly walking into the kitchen and leaning against the counter.

"Thank you, Aaron... I know it's late, and you were probably asleep, so thank you for taking the time to help me,"

"Don't mention it, I wasn't going to leave you out there to freeze." Aaron glanced over his shoulder at her whilst he made the mugs of coffee. "I'll fetch a blanket and pillows from upstairs if you want? Or you can take my bed? I don't mind,"

"Oh, I couldn't impose taking your bed... I-"

"You're not imposing if I offer," Hotch said gently, turning to face her with the mug outstretched. Emily took it into her hands, ignoring the way they were shaking. The bed did sound like a nice option, but she couldn't, surely? He _was_ offering though... Ugh, she couldn't decide.

"Look, I'll take the couch. I just have to warn you that Jack might wake you up in the morning, he'll expect me to be there," Hotch explained with a small chuckle at the end. "I'm sorry if he does, just send him down here and sleep as long as you need, got it?"

"Hotch - why are you doing this for me?" Emily asked, voice barely audible even to herself. "Sure, the rest of the team would probably invite me in, but here you are, having made coffee for both of us even though you were sleeping twenty minutes ago, sitting opposite me and insisting I should take the bed whilst you sleep on the couch... Not many people would do that, so why are you?" she chewed on her lower lip as she waited for his answer, eyes darting around the room and eventually staying at her coffee mug. The silence was near unbearable, Hotch trying to form the words.

"I'm doing it because you're my agent, Emily, and I'm your boss - I have almost a responsibility to make sure you remain safe. We may not be on the field, but even so I feel as if it's only my duty to make sure you're still safe. Do you remember back when a bomb was placed under Kate's SUV, and it exploded? I couldn't bear to be near any loud noises because it set off a painful ringing noise in my head. When we dug up the coffin and I had to leave, you followed after me, you didn't leave until you were certain I was okay. Now, not many people would do _that_ either, Prentiss. It just depends on what sort of person you are. You're a good person, Emily Prentiss, so now I'm trying to be one in return." Hotch set his mug down on the table, eyes never leaving Emily's face, "Carl Jung once said that 'as far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being'. You do that Emily, we all do in our job, but you go that extra mile. You willingly take on a role to help us catch our unsub, or you make sure that the children we rescue are safe and happy. You're a good person Emily, so now it's time you got something nice done for you in return," he cleared his throat once he'd finished, trying to gage her reaction.

"Wow..." Emily chuckled slightly, tucking her damp hair behind her ear and meeting his eyes. "I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me, Aaron Hotchner, thank you,"

"It's only the truth, Prentiss. Right, I'll see if I can find some spare clothes as well, I'm sure you probably want to change out of those and into something warmer. I'll put your clothes in the wash for tomorrow." before she could even respond, Aaron was at the stairs, going up into his room. Emily stayed where she was until he came down, hands clasped around the warm mug; they were still shaking, but she still ignored it, choosing to believe it was purely because of the cold. When Hotch came back, he was carrying a plain t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. With what could only be described as a sheepish smile, he placed them beside her.

"These are probably going to be much too big, but they're the comfiest clothes I could find. I hope you don't mind,"

" _Aaron Hotchner_ owns _sweatpants_?" Emily smirked, holding up the light grey bottoms. It was as if she had forgotten it was in the middle of the night and she was in the middle of a crisis, her tone filled with teasing as she snickered. Hotch found himself smiling, feigning an exasperated eye roll.

"A guy likes to keep comfy after a long period of work," he defended, leaning against the wall.

"Wait, you mean you _don't_ wear suits to bed? I thought they were all you owned!" Prentiss grinned, standing with her make-do pyjamas.

"Funny," Hotch stated sarcastically, though the smile clearly remained. It made Emily happy, so he was fine with the joking around. As long as she was happy and it was distracting her from whatever had gone wrong. In the moment, nothing mattered except the bright smile on her face that made his chest warm. He wanted that smile to always be there, he wanted to be the _reason_ that smile-

No.

He had to stop those thoughts.

"I have been told I'm quite hilarious," Prentiss continued, moving to the doorway. She hesitated a moment, turning to him. "Goodnight, Aaron Hotchner,"

"Goodnight, Emily Prentiss,"

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A/N I honestly still don't like it, but there's the chapter :p If anyone has any suggestions, questions, prompts, etc, don't hesitate to drop me a PM!


	7. AN

Heya! I know I haven't posted in a while and I promise a chapter is on the way, I've just been reallyyyyyy busy lately DX

~Oncie


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